


run a little faster (go a little harder)

by doctorkaitlyn



Series: teen wolf femslash bingo. [20]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Complicated Relationships, F/F, Friends With Benefits, Oral Sex, Secret Relationship, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-05
Updated: 2016-05-05
Packaged: 2018-06-06 10:51:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,949
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6751027
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doctorkaitlyn/pseuds/doctorkaitlyn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The thing is, Kira doesn't even <i>like</i> Violet.</p>
            </blockquote>





	run a little faster (go a little harder)

**Author's Note:**

> written for the 'secret dating' square on my Teen Wolf Femslash Bingo card (although it's really secret friends with benefits...) and for the Kira multiship meme I was prompted for!

It’s not even six o’clock and Kira still has at least an hour of homework to do, but she’s already exhausted, right down to the marrow of her bones. 

She’s been at lacrosse practice for three long hours; she’s not even sure if practice is allowed to be that long, but Coach had said that they weren’t leaving until they were prepared for Friday’s home game, the first of the season. The back of her neck feels sunburned and she swears that there’s sweat covering every inch of her body. Her braids have started to unravel and she can feel wisps of hair plastered to her forehead and neck, refusing to move when she brushes at them. Just dragging herself off the bench when Coach _finally_ finished his rambling pep talk had required all of her energy. 

(It could still be worse; Stiles had to take a lap every time he mouthed off. Kira had lost track at a dozen and when she glanced back when walking off the field, he’d still been lying on the ground beside the bench, arm flung over his eye, passed out or maybe dead.) 

When she finally makes it back to the girl’s locker room, which is empty at this time of the night, she collapses onto the nearest bench. She sets her helmet down gingerly (it has enough scuffs on it already) before she starts tearing at her lacrosse pads. Her fingers keep getting caught in the fabric but eventually, she manages to get herself down to her shorts and tank top, both of which need to be thrown into the washing machine as soon as possible. 

Part of her just wants to head home and shower but as soon as she moves, she changes her mind. It feels like every muscle in her body cries out at once and she knows without looking that she’s probably covered in bruises (which she’ll inevitably bang off every available surface while they slowly heal). She gets to her feet and shuffles down to her locker, hoping that she remembered to stash some extra clothes in there at some point. 

Thankfully, she has a pair of denim shorts (which she thinks are actually Malia’s) and a hoodie (which might be Stiles’). She doesn’t have a towel, but she’s pretty sure she can deal with having wet hair until she gets home. 

When she turns around, she’s no longer alone in the room. 

“Violet!” she yells, heart thudding against her chest as she trips backwards and nearly falls into her open locker. “How long have you been sitting there?”

“Only a few seconds,” Violet responds with a smug smirk that only makes Kira flush harder. She’s sitting on the bench opposite Kira, arms crossed over her chest, wearing a crop top and black jeans that cling tightly to her legs.

“What are you doing here?” Kira asks, turning to slam her locker closed. 

“Came to scope out the competition. That new goalie of yours looks pretty good. You might actually stand a chance at beating us on Friday.” 

“I think we have more than a _chance_ ,” Kira replies, trying to keep her voice as steady as possible. She knows the kind of reaction Violet is looking for and she will not let herself be goaded, no matter how sure she is that they’ll beat Violet’s team. “I was about to have a shower before you came in, so…”

“Well, don’t let me stop you,” Violet says, throwing her hands up in mock surrender. “I’ll just sit back here and appreciate the view.” Even though her muscles are practically begging her to, Kira doesn’t move towards the shower quite yet, because Violet’s dark eyes are practically glimmering underneath the room’s dim lights and her full lips are still furled into a smirk.

“Why are you _actually_ here?” she asks, already aware of what the answer will be. 

“I wanted to see you,” Violet responds, getting to her feet. She’s wearing heeled boots, high enough to make Kira have to tilt her head back to make eye contact when Violet crosses the space between them. “Is that such a bad thing?” 

Kira doesn’t answer that. Truthfully, she doesn’t even know what the answer is. 

The thing is, she doesn’t even _like_ Violet. She’s brash and too sharp around the edges, always ready to get in someone’s face or tear them apart with her vicious tongue. On the field, she’s talented but absurdly aggressive; Kira is pretty sure Violet holds the record for number of red cards received in a season. The only situation Kira would truly trust her in is a fist fight.

But then again, for the last six months, since their first drunken kiss at a mutual friend’s party, Kira has trusted Violet to keep their relationship (whatever it is) a secret.

So far, Violet hasn’t let her down. 

Violet doesn’t waste time in leaning in to kiss her and just like that, everything Kira hates about her, all her sharpness and dangerous fire, melts away. She wastes no time in crowding Kira back against the locker, pushing her until it digs into her back. Kira wraps her fingers around the curves of Violet’s hips, digging her nails into warm, smooth skin. Violet gets her back by tugging on Kira’s lip with her teeth, the pressure just on the right side of too hard. 

By the time Kira pulls away to suck in a breath, her chest heaving in a way it never does from lacrosse, Violet’s hands have slunk underneath her tank top and her fingers are just skirting around the bottom of Kira’s sports bra, making goosebumps spring up along her torso. She glances at the door, a half-hearted protest at their location ready to pass her lips, but she decides to swallow it back. Really, this might be the safest place for them to be doing this; she assumes that Violet locked the door and there’s no chance that Coach or any of the guys are going to come bursting in.

It’s definitely better than being under the bleachers. Just thinking about that night makes a phantom thrill of anticipation and dread flutter through Kira’s stomach. 

“Everything alright?” Violet asks, one eyebrow raised, the hint of an infuriating smirk playing around her full lips. “I can stop, if you’d like me to.” 

“No,” Kira says firmly, pulling Violet in closer. “I’m fine.” Despite her best efforts, some of her breathlessness sneaks into her voice and Violet’s smirk only grows larger. If they were on the field, Kira would make it her goal to wipe that smirk off Violet’s face by any means necessary. 

As it is, she uses her grip on Violet’s hips to tug them back together. 

Her tank top and bra don’t last much longer. Violet’s demanding fingers tear them away and Kira can’t help but shiver slightly as her still-warm skin is exposed to the cooler air of the room. Automatically, she takes a quick glance at the frosted glass window set into the door, but no one walks by and she can’t hear a single sound other than her own breathing and the sound of water dripping from the taps. 

“I haven’t had a shower yet,” she says, reminded by the sound of the water.

“So?” Violet asks with a shrug, curling a hand around Kira’s breast. “You’re just going to get sweatier.” Her thumb brushes over Kira’s nipple and Kira squeezes her thighs together, seeking relief from the slick warmth pooling between them. Violet laughs, the sound low and dangerous. 

“Is there something you want me to do?” she asks with a cocked eyebrow. To her credit, even with all the bluster and bravado, Violet always asks before she drops to her knees or slips her hand into Kira’s shorts. She always waits until Kira has given her vocal confirmation, until she’s asked (or in some cases, demanded) more. 

"Yes," Kira responds, eternally thankful that Violet can’t hear her heartbeat, can’t hear how hard it's thumping against her breastbone. Violet’s grin somehow grows impossibly larger and she squeezes Kira’s breast hard enough for another wave of slickness to spread through Kira’s core. 

“Okay,” she says quietly before she unceremoniously drops to her knees, wedging herself into the small space between Kira’s legs and the bench that runs the length of the lockers. Before Kira suggest moving somewhere else, Violet curls her fingers into Kira’s waistband and pulls down her shorts and underwear in one swift movement. The warm, humid air of the locker room still feels like a cool breeze brushing against the inside of Kira’s thighs and she bites her lip as she steps out of her clothes. The feeling of being exposed settles over her, sends a chill running straight her spine. She still isn’t sure if it’s a feeling she really likes, but she can’t deny that it makes her heart pump even faster. 

“Comfortable?” Violet asks with a raised eyebrow, hands curling around the back of Kira’s knees and gently tugging her legs further apart. Kira takes a moment to get herself situated; standing up isn’t her favorite way to do this, but it’s definitely the most sanitary in this environment, so she bends her knees slightly and wraps her fingers around the hinges of the lockers on either side of her. Her already sore legs twinge in protest, but she ignores it for the moment.

“Ready,” she says, pressing her hips towards Violet’s mouth. 

The word has barely left her mouth before Violet’s tongue presses against her and sucks the breath from her lungs. 

&.

It doesn’t take Kira long to come; it never takes Violet long to wring an orgasm out of her, not unless she’s deliberately taking her time and being absolutely insufferable. 

Thankfully, today is not one of those days, because by the time Violet pulls back with a blinding smirk on her face, Kira honestly thinks that her legs might be about to give out. She lets her head drop back against the lockers with a thud and just barely manages to keep her sweaty fingers wrapped around the hinges. 

She doesn’t think she’s ever felt so sated or sweaty in her entire life. 

“Give me a minute,” she pants, trying (and failing) to blow away some of the hair plastered to her forehead. “Then I’ll-”

“Don’t worry about it,” Violet says, shaking her head and clambering to her feet. “You need a shower. You can return the favor Friday, after I kick your ass on the field.” Kira opens one eye, just enough to see the painfully smug expression plastered across Violet’s face. 

“What if my team wins?” Kira asks. Violet tilts her head slightly and averts her eyes upwards, mind obviously considering numerous possibilities. 

In the seconds that pass before Violet speaks again, Kira regrets asking. 

“Then I’ll sneak over after,” Violet finally says thoughtfully, “and we can finally use that strap-on you bought.” 

Kira tells herself not to blush, but it’s no use; her cheeks flood with searing hot warmth. She’d never meant to tell Violet that but it had slipped from her mouth one night, about a month ago, while they were under the bleachers, bare skin pressed against cold, rough metal. Violet just grins at her once more and presses her still-sticky lips to the corner of Kira’s mouth. 

“Don’t worry, I’m not going to tell anyone. About the strap-on, or otherwise. Promise.” 

Kira may not believe anything else Violet says, but she believes this. 

(A little voice in the back of her mind says that she may regret that decision one day but for the moment, she’s too tired, sticky and sore to care.)

**Author's Note:**

> as always, I can be found on [tumblr.](http://banshee-cheekbones.tumblr.com/) :)


End file.
